


Imaginary Girlfriend

by arpulver



Category: Digimon Adventure tri.
Genre: Alternative Perspective, Angst and Romance, During Canon, F/M, One Shot, POV Female Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-30
Updated: 2019-05-30
Packaged: 2020-03-29 16:54:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19024048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arpulver/pseuds/arpulver
Summary: As the city faced attack after attack, she came to hate Digimon like everybody else. Her only sources of comfort were the news, her stuffed dugong, and her boyfriend: Joe Kido.





	Imaginary Girlfriend

I hate Digimon.

I hate how they appear from thin air with no reason or warning. I hate their uncanny, insulting resemblance to real animals, only larger or with accessories or not extinct. I hate these behemoths stomping through cities, destroying places I’ve been to, the places my loved ones visit, the places I dream of seeing. Places where somebody I care about could end up under rubble or one of their claws. I hate how they fight, no doubt some savage ritual with no concern for the lives or property around them. Uncontrollable destructive monsters belong in the movies, not on the news.

Yet there they were, the giant beetles, the dinosaur, the wolf, and everything else destroying Haneda Airport. My mother, sister, and I watched as if any moment, one of us would ask to take the DVD out. Dad tuned it out as he braved bad reception to find out if Monday’s meeting in Sendai was still on. I wondered if the plane spewing flames in the background was supposed to be his.

My sister scoffed at the way I clutched at Aoju, my blue dugong. I didn’t care how silly it was for a girl on the verge of graduating high school to cling to a giant stuffed animal she won when she was ten. He brought me luck ever since winning him as a festival prize. I had been so discouraged by my lack of skill at the other games, but seeing his mushy face in the pile at the lucky string game made me smile enough to chance a pull. So what if I still sometimes sleep with him in my arms? Or stuff him in my school bag? The occasional stroke during tricky exams helped me secure encouraging test scores.

He even helped me win my lovable boyfriend: Joe Kido.

 

We met in a study group assembled during cram school. The four of us didn’t know each other, but we all lived around the same area and our scores at the time demanded intervention. I suggested it after overhearing two classmates griping about test questions on the train. These two were disorganized and disinterested, often taking us off topic. I was supposed to be the leader—I had the best scores among us—but we needed Joe to shout them down, keep us on track, and provide a boundless devotion to creating a schedule we could work around. His visible frustration, frequent scolding, and demand for commitment made him the least liked in the group. It saved us.

The other two got fed up and quit over time, but Joe and I persisted in what became an effective partnership. He kept me on task while I tried to guide him through the concepts evading him. We were too focused on our work to notice our budding friendship. Despite all the sly grins from nosy librarians or baristas, the notion of dating never came up.

Then, one day after a grueling drill left us exhausted and loopy, Aoju fell out of my bag. I had never seen such an innocent grin on Joe’s face before as he admired him, told me how cute he looked, and how cute it was that I carried him around. I asked him out to dinner then and there. The red in his cheeks as he stuttered his agreement meant he understood. By the time dessert came that night, we agreed to let it happen.

 

I never got the chance to talk to Joe about the attacks. Much as I could have used the comfort, his results had become more dire. Obviously he didn’t have a blue dugong in his corner. The Digimon crisis was an unwanted distraction and would no doubt scare away his concentration.

We didn’t see much of each other over the next few weeks. Our main communication became reassuring texts. I worried he was getting into his own head, but was too afraid to step in and risk hindering his focus further. Pushing past study partners into something beyond made us more susceptible to unproductive diversions.

In the meantime, the attacks grew. The amusement park destruction and the giant cactus shooting down the news helicopter were bad enough, but then one of my dad’s flights suffered an unexplained electrical problem and almost didn’t land safely. Reports suggested a connection to the Digimon. I cried.

I watched the news a lot that summer. At first I craved information. Once I realized they knew as little as me, it was reassuring: yes, I should be freaking out about this. While my family tried to tune it out, I couldn’t think about anything else. It interfered with my studying, but how could I concentrate on exams when any day the monsters could destroy my school or a disturbance could rewire my train and hurl it off a bridge? The lack of hard answers made me loathe Digimon even more.

 

One day, as I was in my usual position, seated on the floor with my legs squeezing Aoju, Joe showed up unannounced, armed with blue hydrangeas and dinner reservations. With a confidence he had never shown me before, he told me to change into the nicest dress I owned. Seeing how he carried himself in his navy blue suit, I couldn’t say no. I didn’t even ask why. He came to sweep me away for a night and one glance at the TV reminded me how much I needed it.

Joe refused to talk about exams. Instead he focused on us: who we were, where we came from, and what we saw ourselves becoming. We discovered movies we wanted to see together and places we wanted to visit. I tried not to bring up Digimon. If he wasn’t going to talk about his struggles, I refused to talk about mine. We talked about anything but the respective chains shackling us.

My one slip happened when I mentioned a TV show I abandoned when I got “caught up watching this stupid Digimon mess.” His smile fell for the first time all night and his eyes strayed to his lap. I changed the subject immediately, chiding myself for the insensitive remark. As far as I knew, those monsters may have hurt somebody he cared about. Besides, my comfort in spending time with him and collectively denying our problems helped. I paid little attention to the convention center attack. With Joe around it didn’t matter as much.

It didn’t last long. All of a sudden, Joe couldn’t fake it anymore. Whatever energy he had summoned to enjoy my company vanished. Finally, reluctantly, I asked how bad things were with his exams. He chuckled, all he could do to keep from crying, and answered, “I have no idea.” Unwilling to bring up my own problems, I refused to probe his. Instead we spent the night in silence, trusting our arms over our words to offer the comfort we needed.

A few days later, the government claimed the Digimon were gone. I was skeptical, of course, but even the faintest hope encouraged me enough to text Joe: “Did you hear they found a way to get rid of the Digimon? Let’s hope so!”

He never replied.

 

That was around summer break, and my family’s beach trip. I offered to ask if Joe could tag along, but he declined without an explanation. Given all his accumulated stress, I didn’t need one. It was a shame since the trip was exactly what I needed. The warm air and bright colors refreshed my senses and cleared the Digimon from my head, lifting my spirits. There was a silly pleasure in standing in the ocean with Aoju. He is an aquatic mammal, after all.

I tried to share the beach, and my happiness, with Joe. I sent back photos, some with warnings not to be opened in public. He only replied to one, late in the week, when I was desperate to find new ways to show off my bikini: “Aoju looks cute.” He never texted me again.

After returning to Tokyo I kept trying to reach out, never to any success. Joe was my outlet, my happy break from a nervy reality. I thought I was the same to him. With no reports of attacks or other accidents, something told me it was deliberate. Did he retreat completely into his shell or did I push him away somehow? I had no way to know.

While I fretted over this, the Digimon returned. This time they didn’t hijack my life as much as reappear to gloat at the disaster it had become. My mind was on Joe. A power plant spewing black flame into the air was background scenery by now.

I hadn’t paid much attention to the news until the reporter said “teenagers.” Someone in the government leaked information about nine kids connected to Digimon. Many had been spotted during the previous attacks, and all had disappeared. I came up with the silliest theory, ridiculous enough to make me smirk all the way up to the sight of Joe’s picture confirming it true.

I didn’t believe it at first. It was a laughably convenient answer and an easy way out. Joe going around unleashing terrible monsters on city landmarks at least meant I could stop worrying about him. But it made no sense. This was Joe Kido, simultaneously charming and goofy, clumsy and reliable, a grounded friend and a thrill of a partner. If reckless teenagers were really responsible for these Digimon atrocities, I couldn’t fathom Joe being one of them.

Later, the broadcast aired security footage of Joe leaving his apartment complex. From his bag, a white seal with a red mohawk poked his head out, grinning at the camera. It was unmistakably Joe, his bag, and his home. I considered the possibility of doctored images, but dismissed them as even more impossible than the image in front of me. Looking down at Aoju, I mumbled, “I don’t understand.”

My phone announced a message from my mother: “Did you know Joe was with them? That’s awful!”

More beeps. From my dad: “If anyone asks, say you haven’t seen him.” A second added, “You haven’t seen him, right?”

Messages kept pouring in:

“Heard about Joe. You okay? He seemed so nice.”

“Way to pick em lol”

“OMG you were dating a terrorist??!!”

Much as I wanted to fall into Aoju’s fins and cry away the humiliation, something stopped me: anger. But not at Joe. How could everyone I know turn on him in an instant? One report comes in with accusations that he’s everything I know he isn’t, and suddenly my family and friends think the worst of him? Much as I couldn’t process any of this, of all the uncertainties going on, all I knew with clarity was how wrong they were to judge him so fast.

Over the next day, I refused to discuss it. It meant biting my lip when anyone brought it up, no matter how vicious the accusations. I was furious at them, but kept it to myself. This wasn’t worth an outburst capable of lasting damage. Besides, no matter how disappointed I was, I didn’t know for sure. Eventually I forced myself to check my phone again, scrolling past the flood of barbs against Joe to check his own words.

Instead I found mine: “Did you hear they found a way to get rid of the Digimon? Let’s hope so!”

Were this some crusade of his, I could have expected an angry rebuke, or a prediction of worse to come. He’d responded with silence. Was it suppressed anger? Disappointment? Lament? Did he shut me out the same way I tuned out everyone who demonized him? Did he have to do that with all of society who felt the same way about Digimon?

 

By nightfall, everyone on Earth worried about Digimon. Attacks had damaged global infrastructure and police ordered most of the city to evacuate or stay in their homes away from windows. The news offered no pictures or video and stopped speculating about what was happening. Just assurances to remain calm and follow instructions. We heard distant explosions outside.

“Tell your boyfriend to cut it out,” muttered my shivering sister.

My head shook as I stared at Aoju’s clueless face. Did I really have to bear this in silence, cowering while those I care about attack others I care about? Do I sit in disappointment while everyone slanders him? I imagined Aoju smiling back, assuring me what had to be done.

“He’s not doing this,” I whispered back. With more confidence, I added, “There’s no way he’d do this. There’s something more.”

Now I had to know if I was right. Still holding Aoju, I ran outside before anyone’s protests could catch me.

The booms and rattles of destruction were all that accompanied me on the street. No Digimon, guards, or bystanders stopped me from running to the bay. Seeing anything reminding me of the dangers may have scared me back home.

Once I reached the ferry terminal, one almost did. The mass of black feathers hovering over Rainbow Bridge froze me in panic. They were chaotic, sickly, vaguely resembling wings from my distant perspective. But it wasn’t a bird’s body at the center. Squinting, I could almost make out a pale, disfigured woman. I struggled to keep my disgust in my stomach. If this was a Digimon, they were worse than I feared.

A giant red bird flew in and launched some sort of fiery projectile at it. The cactus from before shot needles at it. More Digimon followed, a constant barrage of attacks on the monstrosity. They left the bridge, the nearby buildings, and the military aircraft surrounding them alone. Even my oblivious eyes could tell they were targeting the nightmare and sparing the innocents. This was a battle against something evil.

Did that mean Joe was a hero? Imagining him fighting to save everyone was almost as ludicrous as painting him as a villain. But I wanted to believe it more. I pictured this secret obligation of his, protecting the world on top of all his usual burdens. An obvious exaggeration, but I loved the idea. Now I needed this horror of black feathers to fall so I could find out how much was true.

A new horror crept in as I now understood the reason for his silence. Here he was, risking his neck for humanity and I’d done nothing for him. Why should he tolerate my hateful thoughts about Digimon? To him, I was just another ignorant fool who didn’t understand. What good would explaining do when everyone was like me? He probably thought we were as hideous as the abomination above the bridge. At some point Joe had written me off like I no longer existed, his final words only acknowledging my own inhuman companion: “Aoju looks cute.”

Aoju... I picked him up and clutched what now seemed like my only friend. He wasn’t enough. I still didn’t know. I still didn’t understand Joe’s struggle. I still couldn’t comprehend what Digimon meant to him. If only this useless pile of fluff in my arms could somehow ferry me across the bay so I could see him again and try. My tears fell onto the fading blue fabric as I longed for a world where that was possible.

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the Digimon Adventure tri. zine released earlier in the year. Some edits made for space constraints have been added back in.
> 
>  
> 
> A dugong is sort of a manatee. Plushes of them actually exist, in blue even!


End file.
